CHAPTER L.--APOLLONIUS OF TYANA. 415

HUMBUGS OF THE WORLD.

I. PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.

CHAPTER I.

GENERAL VIEW OF THE SUBJECT.--HUMBUG UNIVERSAL.--IN RELIGION.--IN

POLITICS.--IN BUSINESS.--IN SCIENCE.--IN MEDICINE.--HOW IS IT TO

CEASE.--THE GREATEST HUMBUG OF ALL.

A little reflection will show that humbug is an astonishingly

wide-spread phenomenon--in fact almost universal. And this is true,

although we exclude crimes and arrant swindles from the definition of

it, according to the somewhat careful explanation which is given in the

beginning of the chapter succeeding this one.

I apprehend that there is no sort of object which men seek to attain,

whether secular, moral or religious, in which humbug is not very often

an instrumentality. Religion is and has ever been a chief chapter of

human life. False religions are the only ones known to two thirds of the

human race, even now, after nineteen centuries of Christianity; and

false religions are perhaps the most monstrous, complicated and

thorough-going specimens of humbug that can be found. And even within

the pale of Christianity, how unbroken has been the succession of

impostors, hypocrites and pretenders, male and female, of every

possible variety of age, sex, doctrine and discipline!

Politics and government are certainly among the most important of

practical human interests. Now it was a diplomatist--that is, a

practical manager of one kind of government matters--who invented that

wonderful phrase--a whole world full of humbug in half-a-dozen

words--that "Language was given to us to conceal our thoughts." It was

another diplomatist, who said "An ambassador is a gentleman sent to

_lie_ abroad for the good of his country." But need I explain to my own

beloved countrymen that there is humbug in politics? Does anybody go

into a political campaign without it? are no exaggerations of _our_

candidate's merits to be allowed? no depreciations of the _other_

candidate? Shall we no longer prove that the success of the party

opposed to us will overwhelm the land in ruin? Let me see. Leaving out

the two elections of General Washington, eighteen times that very fact

has been proved by the party that was beaten, and immediately we have

_not_ been ruined, notwithstanding that the dreadful fatal fellows on

the other side got their hands on the offices and their fingers into the

treasury.

Business is the ordinary means of living for nearly all of us. And in

what business is there not humbug? "There's cheating in all trades but

ours," is the prompt reply from the boot-maker with his brown paper

soles, the grocer with his floury sugar and chicoried coffee, the

butcher with his mysterious sausages and queer veal, the dry goods man

with his "damaged goods wet at the great fire" and his "selling at a

ruinous loss," the stock-broker with his brazen assurance that your

company is bankrupt and your stock not worth a cent (if he wants to buy

it,) the horse jockey with his black arts and spavined brutes, the

milkman with his tin aquaria, the land agent with his nice new maps and

beautiful descriptions of distant scenery, the newspaper man with his

"immense circulation," the publisher with his "Great American Novel,"

the city auctioneer with his "Pictures by the Old Masters"--all and

every one protest each his own innocence, and warn you against the

deceits of the rest. My inexperienced friend, take it for granted that

they all tell the truth--about each other! and then transact your

business to the best of your ability on your own judgment. Never fear

but that you will get experience enough, and that you will pay well for

it too; and towards the time when you shall no longer need earthly

goods, you will begin to know how to buy.

Literature is one of the most interesting and significant expressions of

humanity. Yet books are thickly peppered with humbug. "Travellers'

stories" have been the scoff of ages, from the "True Story" of witty old

Lucian the Syrian down to the gorillarities--if I may coin a word--of

the Frenchman Du Chaillu. Ireland's counterfeited Shakspeare plays,

Chatterton's forged manuscripts, George Psalmanazar's forged Formosan

language, Jo Smith's Mormon Bible, (it should be noted that this and the

Koran sounded two strings of humbug together--the literary and the

religious,) the more recent counterfeits of the notorious Greek

Simonides--such literary humbugs as these are equal in presumption and

in ingenuity too, to any of a merely business kind, though usually

destitute of that sort of impiety which makes the great religious

humbugs horrible as well as impudent.

Science is another important field of human effort. Science is the

pursuit of pure truth, and the systematizing of it. In such an

employment as that, one might reasonably hope to find all things done in

honesty and sincerity. Not at all, my ardent and inquiring friends,

there is a scientific humbug just as large as any other. We have all

heard of the Moon Hoax. Do none of you remember the Hydrarchos

Sillimannii, that awful Alabama snake? It was only a little while ago

that a grave account appeared in a newspaper of a whole new business of

compressing ice. Perpetual motion has been the dream of scientific

visionaries, and a pretended but cheating realization of it has been

exhibited by scamp after scamp. I understand that one is at this moment

being invented over in Jersey City. I have purchased more than one

"perpetual motion" myself. Many persons will remember Mr. Paine--"The

Great Shot-at" as he was called, from his story that people were

constantly trying to kill him--and his water-gas. There have been other

water gases too, which were each going to show us how to set the North

River on fire, but something or other has always broken down just at the

wrong moment. Nobody seems to reflect, when these water gases come up,

that if water could really be made to burn, the right conditions would

surely have happened at some one of the thousands of city fires, and

that the very stuff with which our stout firemen were extinguishing the

flames, would have itself caught and exterminated the whole brave wet

crowd!

Medicine is the means by which we poor feeble creatures try to keep from

dying or aching. In a world so full of pain it would seem as if people

could not be so foolish, or practitioners so knavish, as to sport with

men's and women's and children's lives by their professional humbugs.

Yet there are many grave M. D.'s who, if there is nobody to hear, and if

they speak their minds, will tell you plainly that the whole practice of

medicine is in one sense a humbug. One of its features is certainly a

humbug, though so innocent and even useful that it seems difficult to

think of any objection to it. This is the practice of giving a

_placebo_; that is, a bread pill or a dose of colored water, to keep the

patient's mind easy while imagination helps nature to perfect a cure. As

for the quacks, patent medicines and universal remedies, I need only

mention their names. Prince Hohenlohe, Valentine Greatrakes, John St.

John Long, Doctor Graham and his wonderful bed, Mesmer and his tub,

Perkins' metallic tractors--these are half a dozen. Modern history knows

of hundreds of such.

It would almost seem as if human delusions became more unreasoning and

abject in proportion as their subject is of greater importance. A

machine, a story, an animal skeleton, are not so very important. But the

humbugs which have prevailed about that wondrous machine, the human

body, its ailments and its cures, about the unspeakable mystery of human

life, and still more about the far greater and more awful mysteries of

the life beyond the grave, and the endless happiness and misery believed

to exist there, the humbugs about these have been infinitely more

absurd, more shocking, more unreasonable, more inhuman, more

destructive.

I can only allude to whole sciences (falsely so called) which are

unmingled humbugs from beginning to end. Such was Alchemy, such was

Magic, such was and still is Astrology, and above all, Fortune-telling.

But there is a more thorough humbug than any of these enterprises or

systems. The greatest humbug of all is the man who believes--or pretends

to believe--that everything and everybody are humbugs. We sometimes meet

a person who professes that there is no virtue; that every man has his

price, and every woman hers; that any statement from anybody is just as

likely to be false as true, and that the only way to decide which, is to

consider whether truth or a lie was likely to have paid best in that

particular case. Religion he thinks one of the smartest business dodges

extant, a firstrate investment, and by all odds the most respectable

disguise that a lying or swindling business man can wear. Honor he

thinks is a sham. Honesty he considers a plausible word to flourish in

the eyes of the greener portion of our race, as you would hold out a

cabbage leaf to coax a donkey. What people want, he thinks, or says he

thinks, is something good to eat, something good to drink, fine clothes,

luxury, laziness, wealth. If you can imagine a hog's mind in a man's

body--sensual, greedy, selfish, cruel, cunning, sly, coarse, yet

stupid, short-sighted, unreasoning, unable to comprehend anything except

what concerns the flesh, you have your man. He thinks himself

philosophic and practical, a man of the world; he thinks to show

knowledge and wisdom, penetration, deep acquaintance with men and

things. Poor fellow! he has exposed his own nakedness. Instead of

showing that others are rotten inside, he has proved that he is. He

claims that it is not safe to believe others--it is perfectly safe to

disbelieve him. He claims that every man will get the better of you if

possible--let him alone! Selfishness, he says, is the universal

rule--leave nothing to depend on his generosity or honor; trust him just

as far as you can sling an elephant by the tail. A bad world, he sneers,

full of deceit and nastiness--it is his own foul breath that he smells;

only a thoroughly corrupt heart could suggest such vile thoughts. He

sees only what suits him, as a turkey-buzzard spies only carrion, though

amid the loveliest landscape. I pronounce him who thus virtually

slanders his father and dishonors his mother and defiles the sanctities

of home and the glory of patriotism and the merchant's honor and the

martyr's grave and the saint's crown--who does not even know that every

sham shows that there is a reality, and that hypocrisy is the homage

that vice pays to virtue--I pronounce him--no, I do not pronounce him a

humbug, the word does not apply to him. He is a fool.

Looked at on one side, the history of humbug is truly humiliating to

intellectual pride, yet the long silly story is less absurd during the

later ages of history, and grows less and less so in proportion to the

spread of real Christianity. This religion promotes good sense, actual

knowledge, contentment with what we cannot help, and the exclusive use

of intelligent means for increasing human happiness and decreasing human

sorrow. And whenever the time shall come when men are kind and just and

honest; when they only want what is fair and right, judge only on real

and true evidence, and take nothing for granted, then there will be no

place left for any humbugs, either harmless or hurtful.

CHAPTER II.

DEFINITION OF THE WORD HUMBUG.--WARREN OF LONDON.--GENIN, THE

HATTER.--GOSLING'S BLACKING.

Upon a careful consideration of my undertaking to give an account of the

"Humbugs of the World," I find myself somewhat puzzled in regard to the

true definition of that word. To be sure, Webster says that humbug, as a

noun, is an "imposition under fair pretences;" and as a verb, it is "to

deceive; to impose on." With all due deference to Doctor Webster, I

submit that, according to present usage, this is not the only, nor even

the generally accepted definition of that term.

We will suppose, for instance, that a man with "fair pretences" applies

to a wholesale merchant for credit on a large bill of goods. His "fair

pretences" comprehend an assertion that he is a moral and religious

man, a member of the church, a man of wealth, etc., etc. It turns out

that he is not worth a dollar, but is a base, lying wretch, an impostor

and a cheat. He is arrested and imprisoned "for obtaining property under

false pretences" or, as Webster says, "fair pretences." He is punished

for his villainy. The public do not call him a "humbug;" they very

properly term him a swindler.

A man, bearing the appearance of a gentleman in dress and manners,

purchases property from you, and with "fair pretences" obtains your

confidence. You find, when he has left, that he paid you with

counterfeit bank-notes, or a forged draft. This man is justly called a

"forger," or "counterfeiter;" and if arrested, he is punished as such;

but nobody thinks of calling him a "humbug."

A respectable-looking man sits by your side in an omnibus or rail-car.

He converses fluently, and is evidently a man of intelligence and

reading. He attracts your attention by his "fair pretences." Arriving at

your journey's end, you miss your watch and your pocket-book. Your

fellow passenger proves to be the thief. Everybody calls him a

"pickpocket," and not withstanding his "fair pretences," not a person in

the community calls him a "humbug."

Two actors appear as stars at two rival theatres. They are equally

talented, equally pleasing. One advertises himself simply as a

tragedian, under his proper name--the other boasts that he is a prince,

and wears decorations presented by all the potentates of the world,

including the "King of the Cannibal Islands." He is correctly set down

as a "humbug," while this term is never applied to the other actor. But

if the man who boasts of having received a foreign title is a miserable

actor, and he gets up gift-enterprises and bogus entertainments, or

pretends to devote the proceeds of his tragic efforts to some charitable

object, without, in fact, doing so--he is then a humbug in Dr. Webster's

sense of that word, for he is an "impostor under fair pretences."

Two physicians reside in one of our fashionable avenues. They were both

educated in the best medical colleges; each has passed an examination,

received his diploma, and been dubbed an M. D. They are equally skilled

in the healing art. One rides quietly about the city in his gig or

brougham, visiting his patients without noise or clamor--the other

sallies out in his coach and four, preceded by a band of music, and his

carriage and horses are covered with handbills and placards, announcing

his "wonderful cures." This man is properly called a quack and a humbug.

Why? Not because he cheats or imposes upon the public, for he does not,

but because, as generally understood, "humbug" consists in putting on

glittering appearances--outside show--novel expedients, by which to

suddenly arrest public attention, and attract the public eye and ear.

Clergymen, lawyers, or physicians, who should resort to such methods of

attracting the public, would not, for obvious reasons, be apt to

succeed. Bankers, insurance-agents, and others, who aspire to become

the custodians of the money of their fellow-men, would require a

different species of advertising from this; but there are various trades

and occupations which need only notoriety to insure success, always

provided that when customers are once attracted, they never fail to get

their money's worth. An honest man who thus arrests public attention

will be called a "humbug," but he is not a swindler or an impostor. If,

however, after attracting crowds of customers by his unique displays, a

man foolishly fails to give them a full equivalent for their money, they

never patronize him a second time, but they very properly denounce him

as a swindler, a cheat, an impostor; they do not, however, call him a

"humbug." He fails, not because he advertises his wares in an _outre_

manner, but because, after attracting crowds of patrons, he stupidly and

wickedly cheats them.

When the great blacking-maker of London dispatched his agent to Egypt to

write on the pyramids of Ghiza, in huge letters, "Buy Warren's Blacking,

30 Strand, London," he was not "cheating" travelers upon the Nile. His

blacking was really a superior article, and well worth the price charged

for it, but he was "humbugging" the public by this queer way of

arresting attention. It turned out just as he anticipated, that English

travelers in that part of Egypt were indignant at this desecration, and

they wrote back to the London Times (every Englishman writes or

threatens to "write to the Times," if anything goes wrong,) denouncing

the "Goth" who had thus disfigured these ancient pyramids by writing on

them in monstrous letters: "Buy Warren's Blacking, 30 Strand, London."

The Times published these letters, and backed them up by several of

those awful, grand and dictatorial editorials peculiar to the great

"Thunderer," in which the blacking-maker, "Warren, 30 Strand," was

stigmatized as a man who had no respect for the ancient patriarchs, and

it was hinted that he would probably not hesitate to sell his blacking

on the sarcophagus of Pharaoh, "or any other"--mummy, if he could only

make money by it. In fact, to cap the climax, Warren was denounced as a

"humbug." These indignant articles were copied into all the Provincial

journals, and very soon, in this manner, the columns of every newspaper

in Great Britain were teeming with this advice: "Try Warren's Blacking,

30 Strand, London." The curiosity of the public was thus aroused, and

they did "try" it, and finding it a superior article, they continued to

purchase it and recommend it to their friends, and Warren made a fortune

by it. He always attributed his success to his having "humbugged" the

public by this unique method of advertising his blacking in Egypt! But

Warren did not cheat his customers, nor practice "an imposition under

fair pretences." He was a humbug, but he was an honest upright man, and

no one called him an impostor or a cheat.

When the tickets for Jenny Lind's first concert in America were sold at

auction, several business-men, aspiring to notoriety, "bid high" for the

first ticket. It was finally knocked down to "Genin, the hatter," for

$225. The journals in Portland (Maine) and Houston (Texas,) and all

other journals throughout the United States, between these two cities,

which were connected with the telegraph, announced the fact in their

columns the next morning. Probably two millions of readers read the

announcement, and asked, "Who is Genin, the hatter?" Genin became famous

in a day. Every man involuntarily examined his hat, to see if it was

made by Genin; and an Iowa editor declared that one of his neighbors

discovered the name of Genin in his old hat and immediately announced

the fact to his neighbors in front of the Post Office. It was suggested

that the old hat should be sold at auction. It was done then and there,

and the Genin hat sold for fourteen dollars! Gentlemen from city and

country rushed to Genin's store to buy their hats, many of them willing

to pay even an extra dollar, if necessary, provided they could get a

glimpse of Genin himself. This singular freak put thousands of dollars

into the pocket of "Genin, the hatter," and yet I never heard it charged

that he made poor hats, or that he would be guilty of an "imposition

under fair pretences." On the contrary, he is a gentleman of probity,

and of the first respectability.

When the laying of the Atlantic Telegraph was nearly completed, I was in

Liverpool. I offered the company one thousand pounds sterling ($5,000)

for the privilege of sending the first twenty words over the cable to my

Museum in New York--not that there was any intrinsic merit in the words,

but that I fancied there was more than $5,000 worth of notoriety in the

operation. But Queen Victoria and "Old Buck" were ahead of me. Their

messages had the preference, and I was compelled to "take a back seat."

By thus illustrating what I believe the public will concede to be the

sense in which the word "humbug" is generally used and understood at the

present time, in this country as well as in England, I do not propose

that my letters on this subject shall be narrowed down to that

definition of the word. On the contrary, I expect to treat of various

fallacies, delusions, and deceptions in ancient and modern times, which,

according to Webster's definition, may be called "humbugs," inasmuch as

they were "impositions under fair pretences."

In writing of modern humbugs, however, I shall sometimes have occasion

to give the names of honest and respectable parties now living, and I

felt it but just that the public should fully comprehend my doctrine,

that a man may, by common usage, be termed a "humbug," without by any

means impeaching his integrity.

Speaking of "blacking-makers," reminds me that one of the first

sensationists in advertising whom I remember to have seen, was Mr.

Leonard Gosling, known as "Monsieur Gosling, the great French

blacking-maker." He appeared in New York in 1830. He flashed like a

meteor across the horizon; and before he had been in the city three

months, nearly everybody had heard of "Gosling's Blacking." I well

remember his magnificent "four in hand." A splendid team of blood bays,

with long black tails, was managed with such dexterity by Gosling

himself, who was a great "whip," that they almost seemed to fly. The

carriage was emblazoned with the words "Gosling's Blacking," in large

gold letters, and the whole turnout was so elaborately ornamented and

bedizened that everybody stopped and gazed with wondering admiration. A

bugle-player or a band of music always accompanied the great Gosling,

and, of course, helped to attract the public attention to his

establishment. At the turning of every street-corner your eyes rested

upon "Gosling's Blacking." From every show-window gilded placards

discoursed eloquently of the merits of "Gosling's Blacking." The

newspapers teemed with poems written in its praise, and showers of

pictorial handbills, illustrated almanacs, and tinseled souvenirs, all

lauding the virtues of "Gosling's Blacking," smothered you at every

point.

The celebrated originator of delineations, "Jim Crow Rice," made his

first appearance at Hamblin's Bowery Theatre at about this time. The

crowds which thronged there were so great that hundreds from the

audience were frequently admitted upon the stage. In one of his scenes,

Rice introduced a negro boot-blacking establishment. Gosling was too

"wide awake" to let such an opportunity pass unimproved, and Rice was

paid for singing an original black Gosling ditty, while a score of

placards bearing the inscription, "Use Gosling's Blacking," were

suspended at different points in this negro boot polishing hall.

Everybody tried "Gosling's Blacking;" and as it was a really good

article, his sales in city and country soon became immense; Gosling made

a fortune in seven years, and retired but, as with thousands before him,

it was "easy come easy go." He engaged in a lead-mining speculation, and

it was generally understood that his fortune was, in a great measure,

lost as rapidly as it was made.

Here let me digress, in order to observe that one of the most difficult

things in life is for men to bear discreetly sudden prosperity. Unless

considerable time and labor are devoted to earning money, it is not

appreciated by its possessor; and, having no practical knowledge of the

value of money, he generally gets rid of it with the same ease that

marked its accumulation. Mr. Astor gave the experience of thousands when

he said that he found more difficulty in earning and saving his first

thousand dollars than in accumulating all the subsequent millions which

finally made up his fortune. The very economy, perseverance, and

discipline which he was obliged to practice, as he gained his money

dollar by dollar, gave him a just appreciation of its value, and thus

led him into those habits of industry, prudence, temperance, and

untiring diligence so conducive and necessary to his future success.

Mr. Gosling, however, was not a man to be put down by a single financial

reverse. He opened a store in Canajoharie, N. Y., which was burned, and

on which there was no insurance. He came again to New York in 1839, and

established a restaurant, where, by devoting the services of himself and

several members of his family assiduously to the business, he soon

reveled in his former prosperity, and snapped his fingers in glee at

what unreflecting persons term "the freaks of Dame Fortune." He is still

living in New York, hale and hearty at the age of seventy. Although

called a "French" blacking-maker, Mr. Gosling is in reality a Dutchman,

having been born in the city of Amsterdam, Holland. He is the father of

twenty-four children, twelve of whom are still living, to cheer him in

his declining years, and to repay him in grateful attentions for the

valuable lessons of prudence, integrity, and industry through the

adoption of which they are honored as respectable and worthy members of

society.

I cannot however permit this chapter to close without recording a

protest in principle against that method of advertising of which

Warren's on the Pyramid is an instance. Not that it is a crime or even

an immorality in the usual sense of the words; but it is a violent

offence against good taste, and a selfish and inexcusable destruction of

other people's enjoyments. No man ought to advertise in the midst of

landscapes or scenery, in such a way as to destroy or injure their

beauty by introducing totally incongruous and relatively vulgar

associations. Too many transactions of the sort have been perpetrated in

our own country. The principle on which the thing is done is, to seek

out the most attractive spot possible--the wildest, the most lovely, and

there, in the most staring and brazen manner to paint up advertisements

of quack medicines, rum, or as the case may be, in letters of monstrous

size, in the most obtrusive colors, in such a prominent place, and in

such a lasting way as to destroy the beauty of the scene both thoroughly

and permanently.

Any man with a beautiful wife or daughter would probably feel

disagreeably, if he should find branded indelibly across her smooth

white forehead, or on her snowy shoulder in blue and red letters such a

phrase as this: "Try the Jigamaree Bitters!" Very much like this is the

sort of advertising I am speaking of. It is not likely that I shall be

charged with squeamishness on this question. I can readily enough see

the selfishness and vulgarity of this particular sort of advertising,

however.

It is outrageously selfish to destroy the pleasure of thousands, for the

sake of a chance of additional gain. And it is an atrocious piece of

vulgarity to flaunt the names of quack nostrums, and of the coarse

stimulants of sots, among the beautiful scenes of nature. The pleasure

of such places depends upon their freedom from the associations of every

day concerns and troubles and weaknesses. A lovely nook of forest

scenery, or a grand rock, like a beautiful woman, depends for much of

its attractiveness upon the attendant sense of freedom from whatever is

low; upon a sense of purity and of romance. And it is about as nauseous

to find "Bitters" or "Worm Syrup" daubed upon the landscape, as it would

be upon the lady's brow.

Since writing this I observe that two legislatures--those of New

Hampshire and New York--have passed laws to prevent this dirty

misdemeanor. It is greatly to their credit, and it is in good season.

For it is matter of wonder that some more colossal vulgarian has not

stuck up a sign a mile long on the Palisades. But it is matter of

thankfulness too. At the White Mountains, many grand and beautiful views

have been spoiled by these nostrum and bedbug souled fellows.

It is worth noticing that the chief haunts of the city of New York, the

Central Park, has thus far remained unviolated by the dirty hands of

these vulgar advertisers. Without knowing anything about it, I have no

doubt whatever that the commissioners have been approached often by

parties desiring the privilege of advertising within its limits. Among

the advertising fraternity it would be thought a gigantic opportunity to

be able to flaunt the name of some bug-poison, fly-killer,

bowel-rectifier, or disguised rum, along the walls of the Reservoir;

upon the delicate stone-work of the Terrace, or the graceful lines of

the Bow Bridge; to nail up a tin sign on every other tree, to stick one

up right in front of every seat; to keep a gang of young wretches

thrusting pamphlet or handbill into every person's palm that enters the

gate, to paint a vulgar sign across every gray rock; to cut quack words

in ditch-work in the smooth green turf of the mall or ball-ground. I

have no doubt that it is the peremptory decision and clear good taste of

the Commissioners alone, which have kept this last retreat of nature

within our crowded city from being long ago plastered and daubed with

placards, handbills, sign-boards and paint, from side to side and from

end to end, over turf, tree, rock, wall, bridge, archway, building and

all.

CHAPTER III.

MONSIEUR MANGIN, THE FRENCH HUMBUG.

One of the most original, unique, and successful humbugs of the present

day was the late Monsieur Mangin, the blacklead pencil maker of Paris.

Few persons who have visited the French capital within the last ten or

twelve years can have failed to have seen him, and once seen he was not

to be forgotten. While passing through the public streets, there was

nothing in his personal appearance to distinguish him from any ordinary

gentlemen. He drove a pair of bay horses, attached to an open carriage

with two seats, the back one always occupied by his valet. Sometimes he

would take up his stand in the Champs Elysees; at other times, near the

column in the Place Vendome; but usually he was seen in the afternoon in

the Place de la Bastille, or the Place de la Madeleine. On Sundays, his

favorite locality was the Place de la Bourse. Mangin was a well-formed,

stately-looking individual, with a most self-satisfied countenance,

which seemed to say: "I am master here; and all that my auditors have to

do is, to listen and obey." Arriving at his destined stopping-place, his

carriage halted. His servant handed him a case from which he took

several large portraits of himself, which he hung prominently upon the

sides of his carriage, and also placed in front of him a vase filled

with medals bearing his likeness on one side and a description of his

pencils on the other. He then leisurely commenced a change of costume.

His round hat was displaced by a magnificent burnished helmet, mounted

with rich plumes of various brilliant colors. His overcoat was laid

aside, and he donned in its stead a costly velvet tunic with gold

fringes. He then drew a pair of polished steel gauntlets upon his hands,

covered his breast with a brilliant cuirass, and placed a richly-mounted

sword at his side. His servant watched him closely, and upon receiving a

sign from his master, he too put on his official costume, which

consisted of a velvet robe and a helmet. The servant then struck up a

tune on the richly-toned organ which always formed a part of Mangin's

outfit. The grotesque appearance of these individuals, and the music,

soon drew together an admiring crowd.

Then the great charlatan stood upon his feet. His manner was calm,

dignified, imposing, indeed almost solemn, for his face was as serious

as that of the chief mourner at a funeral. His sharp, intelligent eye

scrutinized the throng which was pressing around his carriage, until it

rested apparently upon some particular individual, when he gave a start;

then, with a dark, angry expression, as if the sight was repulsive, he

abruptly dropped the visor of his helmet and thus covered his face from

the gaze of the anxious crowd. This bit of coquetry produced the desired

effect in whetting the appetite of the multitude, who were impatiently

waiting to hear him speak. When he had carried this kind of by-play as

far as he thought the audience would bear it, he raised his hand, and

his servant understanding the sign, stopped the organ. Mangin then rang

a small bell, stepped forward to the front of the carriage, gave a

slight cough indicative of a preparation to speak, opened his mouth, but

instantly giving a more fearful start and assuming a more sudden frown

than before, he took his seat as if quite overcome by some unpleasant

object which his eyes had rested upon. Thus far he had not spoken a

word. At last the prelude ended, and the comedy commenced. Stepping

forward again to the front of his carriage where all the gaping crowd

could catch every word, he exclaimed:

"Gentlemen, you look astonished! You seem to wonder and ask yourselves

who is this modern Quixote. What mean this costume of by-gone

centuries--this golden chariot--these richly caparisoned steeds? What is

the name and purpose of this curious knight-errant? Gentlemen, I will

condescend to answer your queries. I am Monsieur Mangin, the great

charlatan of France! Yes, gentlemen, I am a charlatan--a mountebank; it

is my profession, not from choice, but from necessity. You, gentlemen,

created that necessity! You would not patronize true, unpretending,

honest merit, but you are attracted by my glittering casque, my sweeping

crest, my waving plumes. You are captivated by din and glitter, and

therein lies my strength. Years ago, I hired a modest shop in the Rue

Rivoli, but I could not sell pencils enough to pay my rent, whereas, by

assuming this disguise--it is nothing else--I have succeeded in

attracting general attention, and in selling literally millions of my

pencils; and I assure you there is at this moment scarcely an artist in

France or in Great Britain who don't know that I manufacture by far the

best blacklead pencils ever seen."

And this assertion was indeed true. His pencils were everywhere

acknowledged to be superior to any other.

While he was thus addressing his audience, he would take a blank card,

and with one of his pencils would pretend to be drawing the portrait of

some man standing near him; then showing his picture to the crowd, it

proved to be the head of a donkey, which, of course, produced roars of

laughter.

"There, do you see what wonderful pencils these are? Did you ever behold

a more striking likeness?"

A hearty laugh would be sure to follow, and then he would exclaim: "Now

who will have the first pencil--only five sous." One would buy, and then

another; a third and a fourth would follow; and with the delivery of

each pencil he would rattle off a string of witticisms which kept his

patrons in capital good-humor; and frequently he would sell from two

hundred to five hundred pencils in immediate succession. Then he would

drop down in his carriage for a few minutes and wipe the perspiration

from his face, while his servant played another overture on the organ.

This gave his purchasers a chance to withdraw, and afforded a good

opportunity for a fresh audience to congregate. Then would follow a

repetition of his previous sales, and in this way he would continue for

hours. To those disposed to have a _souvenir_ of the great humbug he

would sell six pencils, a medal and a photograph of himself for a franc

(twenty cents.) After taking a rest he would commence a new speech.

"When I was modestly dressed, like any of my hearers, I was half

starved. Punch and his bells would attract crowds, but my good pencils

attracted nobody. I imitated Punch and his bells, and now I have two

hundred depots in Paris. I dine at the best cafes, drink the best wine,

live on the best of everything, while my defamers get poor and lank, as

they deserve to be. Who are my defamers? Envious swindlers! Men who try

to ape me, but are too stupid and too dishonest to succeed. They

endeavor to attract notice as mountebanks, and then foist upon the

public worthless trash, and hope thus to succeed. Ah! defamers of mine,

you are fools as well as knaves. Fools, to think that any man can

succeed by systematically and persistently cheating the public. Knaves,

for desiring the public's money without giving them an equivalent. I am

an honest man. I have no bad habits; and I now declare, if any trader,

inventor, manufacturer, or philanthropist will show me better pencils

than mine, I will give him 1,000f.--no, not to him, for I abhor

betting--but to the poor of the Thirty-first Arrondissement, where I

live."

Mangin's harangues were always accompanied by a peculiar play of feature

and of voice, and with unique and original gestures, which seemed to

excite and captivate his audience.

About seven years ago, I met him in one of the principal restaurants in

the Palais Royale. A mutual friend introduced me.

"Ah!" said he, "Monsieur Barnum, I am delighted to see you. I have read

your book with infinite satisfaction. It has been published here in

numerous editions. I see you have the right idea of things. Your motto

is a good one--'we study to please.' I have much wanted to visit

America; but I cannot speak English, so I must remain in my dear belle

France."

I remarked that I had often seen him in public, and bought his pencils.

"Aha! you never saw better pencils. You know I could never maintain my

reputation if I sold poor pencils. But _sacre bleu_, my miserable

would-be imitators do not know our grand secret. First, attract the

public by din and tinsel, by brilliant sky-rockets and Bengola lights,

then give them as much as possible for their money."

"You are very happy," I replied, "in your manner of attracting the

public. Your costume is elegant, your chariot is superb, and your valet

and music are sure to draw."

"Thank you for your compliment, Mr. B., but I have not forgotten your

Buffalo-hunt, your Mermaid, nor your Woolly Horse. They were a good

offset to my rich helmet and sword, my burnished gauntlets and gaudy

cuirass. Both are intended as advertisements of something genuine, and

both answer the purpose."

After comparing notes in this way for an hour, we parted, and his last

words were:

"Mr. B., I have got a grand humbug in my head, which I shall put in

practice within a year, and it shall double the sale of my pencils.

Don't ask me what it is, but within one year you shall see it for

yourself, and you shall acknowledge Monsieur Mangin knows something of

human nature. My idea is magnifique, but it is one grand secret."

I confess my curiosity was somewhat excited, and I hoped that Monsieur

Mangin would "add another wrinkle to my horns." But, poor fellow! within

four months after I bade him adieu, the Paris newspapers announced his

sudden death. They added that he had left two hundred thousand francs,

which he had given in his will to charitable objects. The announcement

was copied into nearly all the papers on the Continent and in Great

Britain, for almost everybody had seen or heard of the eccentric pencil

maker.

His death caused many an honest sigh, and his absence seemed to cast a

gloom over several of his favorite halting-places. The Parisians really

loved him, and were proud of his genius.

"Well," people in Paris would remark, "Mangin was a clever fellow. He

was shrewd, and possessed a thorough knowledge of the world. He was a

gentleman and a man of intelligence, extremely agreeable and witty. His

habits were good; he was charitable. He never cheated anybody. He always

sold a good article, and no person who purchased from him had cause to

complain."

I confess I felt somewhat chagrined that the Monsieur had thus suddenly

taken "French leave" without imparting to me the "grand secret" by which

he was to double the sales of his pencils. But I had not long to mourn

on that account; for after Monsieur Mangin had been for six months--as

they say of John Brown--"mouldering in his grave" judge of the

astonishment and delight of all Paris at his reappearance in his native

city in precisely the same costume and carriage as formerly, and

heralded by the same servant and organ that had always attended him. It

now turned out that Monsieur Mangin had lived in the most rigid

seclusion for half a year, and that the extensively-circulated

announcements of his sudden death had been made by himself, merely as

an "advertising dodge" to bring him still more into notice, and give the

public something to talk about. I met Mangin in Paris soon after this

event.

"Aha, Monsieur Barnum!" he exclaimed, "did I not tell you I had a new

humbug that would double the sales of my pencils? I assure you my sales

are more than quadrupled, and it is sometimes impossible to have them

manufactured fast enough to supply the demand. You Yankees are very

clever, but by gar, none of you have discovered you should live all the

better if you would die for six months. It took Mangin to teach you

that."

The patronizing air with which he made this speech, slapping me at the

same time familiarly upon the back, showed him in his true character of

egotist. Although good-natured and social to a degree, he was really one

of the most self-conceited men I ever met.

Monsieur Mangin died the present year, and it is said that his heirs

received more than half a million of francs as the fruit of his

eccentric labors.

CHAPTER IV.

OLD GRIZZLY ADAMS.[37-*]

James C. Adams, or "Grizzly Adams," as he was generally termed, from the

fact of his having captured so many grizzly bears, and encountered such

fearful perils by his unexampled daring, was an extraordinary character.

For many years a hunter and trapper in the Rocky and Sierra Nevada

Mountains, he acquired a recklessness which, added to his natural

invincible courage, rendered him truly one of the most striking men of

the age. He was emphatically what the English call a man of "pluck." In

1860, he arrived in New York with his famous collection of California

animals, captured by himself, consisting of twenty or thirty immense

grizzly bears, at the head of which stood "Old Sampson"--now in the

American Museum--wolves, half a dozen other species of bear, California

lions, tigers, buffalo, elk, etc., and Old Neptune, the great sea-lion,

from the Pacific.

Old Adams had trained all these monsters so that with him they were as

docile as kittens, while many of the most ferocious among them would

attack a stranger without hesitation, if he came within their grasp. In

fact, the training of these animals was no fool's play, as Old Adams

learned to his cost; for the terrific blows which he received from time

to time, while teaching them "docility," finally cost him his life.

When Adams and his other wild beasts (for he was nearly as wild as any

of them) arrived in New York, he called immediately at the Museum. He

was dressed in his hunter's suit of buckskin, trimmed with the skins and

bordered with the hanging tails of small Rocky Mountain animals; his cap

consisting of the skin of a wolf's head and shoulders, from which

depended several tails as natural as life, and under which appeared his

stiff bushy gray hair and his long white grizzly beard. In fact, Old

Adams was quite as much of a show as his bears. They had come around

Cape Horn on the clipper-ship Golden Fleece, and a sea-voyage of three

and a half months had probably not added much to the beauty or neat

appearance of the old bear-hunter.

During our conversation, Grizzly Adams took off his cap, and showed me

the top of his head. His skull was literally broken in. It had on

various occasions been struck by the fearful paws of his grizzly

students; and the last blow, from the bear called "General Fremont," had

laid open his brain, so that its workings were plainly visible. I

remarked that I thought that was a dangerous wound, and might possibly

prove fatal.

"Yes," replied Adams, "that will fix me out. It had nearly healed; but

old Fremont opened it for me, for the third or fourth time, before I

left California, and he did his business so thoroughly, I'm a used-up

man. However, I reckon I may live six months or a year yet."

This was spoken as coolly as if he had been talking about the life of a

dog.

The immediate object of "Old Adams" in calling upon me was this. I had

purchased one-half interest in his California menagerie from a man who

had come by way of the Isthmus from California, and who claimed to own

an equal interest with Adams in the show. Adams declared that the man

had only advanced him some money, and did not possess the right to sell

half of the concern. However, the man held a bill of sale for one-half

of the "California Menagerie," and Old Adams finally consented to

accept me as an equal partner in the speculation, saying that he guessed

I could do the managing part, and he would show up the animals. I

obtained a canvas tent, and erecting it on the present site of Wallack's

Theatre, Adams there opened his novel California Menagerie. On the

morning of opening, a band of music preceded a procession of

animal-cages, down Broadway and up the Bowery; Old Adams dressed in his

hunting costume, heading the line, with a platform-wagon on which were

placed three immense grizzly bears, two of which he held by chains,

while he was mounted on the back of the largest grizzly, which stood in

the centre, and was not secured in any manner whatever. This was the

bear known as "General Fremont;" and so docile had he become that Adams

said he had used him as a packbear to carry his cooking and hunting

apparatus through the mountains for six months, and had ridden him

hundreds of miles. But apparently docile as were many of these animals,

there was not one among them that would not occasionally give even Adams

a sly blow or a sly bite when a good chance offered; hence Old Adams was

but a wreck of his former self, and expressed pretty nearly the truth

when he said:

"Mr. Barnum, I am not the man I was five years ago. Then I felt able to

stand the hug of any grizzly living, and was always glad to encounter,

single-handed, any sort of an animal that dared present himself. But I

have been beaten to a jelly, torn almost limb from limb, and nearly

chawed up and spit out by these treacherous grizzly bears. However, I am

good for a few months yet, and by that time I hope we shall gain enough

to make my old woman comfortable, for I have been absent from her some

years."

His wife came from Massachusetts to New York, and nursed him. Dr. Johns

dressed his wounds every day, and not only told Adams he could never

recover, but assured his friends that probably a very few weeks would

lay him in his grave.

But Adams was as firm as adamant and as resolute as a lion. Among the

thousands who saw him dressed in his grotesque hunter's suit, and

witnessed the apparent vigor with which he "performed" the savage

monsters, beating and whipping them into apparently the most perfect

docility, probably not one suspected that this rough, fierce-looking,

powerful demi-savage, as he appeared to be, was suffering intense pain

from his broken skull and fevered system, and that nothing kept him from

stretching himself on his deathbed but that most indomitable and

extraordinary will of his.

After the exhibition had been open six weeks, the Doctor insisted that

Adams should sell out his share in the animals and settle up all his

worldly affairs; for he assured him that he was growing weaker every

day, and his earthly existence must soon terminate.

"I shall live a good deal longer than you doctors think for," replied

Adams, doggedly; and then, seeming after all to realize the truth of the

Doctor's assertion, he turned to me and said: "Well, Mr. B., you must

buy me out." He named his price for his half of the "show," and I

accepted his offer. We had arranged to exhibit the bears in Connecticut

and Massachusetts during the summer, in connection with a circus, and

Adams insisted that I should hire him to travel for the summer, and

exhibit the bears in their curious performances. He offered to go for

$60 per week and traveling expenses of himself and wife.

I replied that I would gladly engage him as long as he could stand it,

but I advised him to give up business and go to his home in

Massachusetts; "for," I remarked, "you are growing weaker every day, and

at best cannot stand it more than a fortnight."

"What will you give me extra if I will travel and exhibit the bears

every day for ten weeks?" asked old Adams, eagerly.

"Five hundred dollars," I replied, with a laugh.

"Done!" exclaimed Adams. "I will do it; so draw up an agreement to that

effect at once. But mind you, draw it payable to my wife, for I may be

too weak to attend to business after the ten weeks are up, and if I

perform my part of the contract, I want her to get the $500 without any

trouble."

I drew up a contract to pay him $60 per week for his services, and if he

continued to exhibit the bears for ten consecutive weeks I was then to

hand him, or his wife $500 extra.

"You have lost your $500!" exclaimed Adams on taking the contract; "for

I am bound to live and earn it."

"I hope you may, with all my heart, and a hundred years more if you

desire it," I replied.

"Call me a fool if I don't earn the $500!" exclaimed Adams, with a

triumphant laugh.

The "show" started off in a few days, and at the end of a fortnight I

met it at Hartford, Connecticut.

"Well," says I, "Adams, you seem to stand it pretty well. I hope you and

your wife are comfortable?"

"Yes," he replied, with a laugh; "and you may as well try to be

comfortable too, for your $500 is a goner."

"All right," I replied; "I hope you will grow better every day."

But I saw by his pale face, and other indications, that he was rapidly

failing.

In three weeks more, I met him again at New Bedford, Mass. It seemed to

me, then, that he could not live a week, for his eyes were glassy and

his hands trembled, but his pluck was great as ever.

"This hot weather is pretty bad for me," he said, "but my ten weeks are

half expired, and I am good for your $500, and, probably, a month or two

longer."

This was said with as much bravado as if he was offering to bet upon a

horse-race. I offered to pay him half of the $500 if he would give up

and go home; but he peremptorily declined making any compromise

whatever.

I met him the ninth week in Boston. He had failed considerably since I

last saw him, but he still continued to exhibit the bears and chuckled

over his almost certain triumph. I laughed in return, and sincerely

congratulated him on his nerve and probable success. I remained with him

until the tenth week was finished, and handed him his $500. He took it

with a leer of satisfaction, and remarked, that he was sorry I was a

teetotaller, for he would like to stand treat!

Just before the menagerie left New York, I had paid $150 for a new

hunting-suit, made of beaver-skins similar to the one which Adams had

worn. This I intended for Herr Driesbach, the animal-tamer, who was

engaged by me to take the place of Adams whenever he should be compelled

to give up.

Adams, on starting from New York, asked me to loan this new dress to him

to perform in once in a while in a fair day when we had a large

audience, for his own costume was considerably soiled. I did so, and now

when I handed him his $500 he remarked:

"Mr. B., I suppose you are going to give me this new hunting-dress."

"Oh no," I replied. "I got that for your successor, who will exhibit the

bears to-morrow; besides, you have no possible use for it."

"Now, don't be mean, but _lend_ me the dress, if you won't _give_ it to

me, for I want to wear it home to my native village."

I could not refuse the poor old man anything, and I therefore replied:

"Well, Adams, I will lend you the dress; but you will send it back to

me."

"Yes, when I have done with it," he replied, with an evident chuckle of

triumph.

I thought to myself, he will soon be done with it, and replied:

"That's all right."

A new idea evidently seized him, for, with a brightening look of

satisfaction, he said:

"Now, Barnum, you have made a good thing out of the California

menagerie, and so have I; but you will make a heap more. So, if you

won't give me this new hunter's dress, just draw a little writing, and

sign it, saying that I may wear it until I have done with it."

Of course, I knew that in a few days at longest he would be "done" with

this world altogether, and, to gratify him, I cheerfully drew and signed

the paper.

"Come, old Yankee, I've got you this time--see if I hain't!" exclaimed

Adams, with a broad grin, as he took the paper.

I smiled, and said:

"All right, my dear fellow; the longer you live, the better I shall like

it."

We parted, and he went to Neponset, a small town near Boston, where his

wife and daughter lived. He took at once to his bed, and never rose from

it again. The excitement had passed away, and his vital energies could

accomplish no more.

The fifth day after arriving home, the physician told him he could not

live until the next morning. He received the announcement in perfect

calmness, and with the most apparent indifference; then, turning to his

wife, with a smile, he requested her to have him buried in the new

hunting suit.

"For," said he, "Barnum agreed to let me have it until I have done with

it, and I was determined to fix his flint this time. He shall never see

that dress again."

His wife assured him that his request should be complied with. He then

sent for the clergyman, and they spent several hours in communing

together.

Adams told the clergyman he had told some pretty big stories about his

bears, but he had always endeavored to do the straight thing between man

and man. "I have attended preaching every day, Sundays and all," said

he, "for the last six years. Sometimes an old grizzly gave me the

sermon, sometimes it was a panther; often it was the thunder and

lightning, the tempest, or the hurricane on the peaks of the Sierra

Nevada, or in the gorges of the Rocky Mountains; but whatever preached

to me, it always taught me the majesty of the Creator, and revealed to

me the undying and unchanging love of our kind Father in heaven.

Although I am a pretty rough customer," continued the dying man, "I

fancy my heart is in about the right place, and look with confidence to

the blessed Saviour for that rest which I so much need, and which I have

never enjoyed upon earth." He then desired the clergyman to pray with

him, after which he grasped him by the hand, thanked him for his

kindness, and bade him farewell.

In another hour his spirit had taken its flight; and it was said by

those present that his face lighted up into a smile as the last breath

escaped him, and that smile he carried into his grave. Almost his last

words were: "Won't Barnum open his eyes when he finds I have humbugged

him by being buried in his new hunting-dress?" That dress was indeed the

shroud in which he was entombed.

And that was the last on earth of "Old Grizzly Adams."

FOOTNOTES:

[37-*] Although the subject of the following sketch can hardly be

classed under the head of "Humbugs," he was an original genius, and a

knowledge of some of his prominent traits seems appropriate in

connection with one or two other passages of this book.

CHAPTER V.

THE GOLDEN PIGEONS.--GRIZZLY ADAMS.--GERMAN CHEMIST.--HAPPY

FAMILY.--FRENCH NATURALIST.

"Old Grizzly Adams" was quite candid when, in his last hours, he

confessed to the clergyman that he had "told some pretty large stories

about his bears." In fact, these "large stories" were Adam's "besetting

sin." To hear him talk, one would suppose that he had seen and handled

everything ever read or heard of. In fact, according to his story,

California contained specimens of all things, animate and inanimate, to

be found in any part of the globe. He talked glibly about California

lions, California tigers, California leopards, California hyenas,

California camels, and California hippopotami. He furthermore declared

he had, on one occasion, seen a California elephant, "at a great

distance," but it was "very shy," and he would not permit himself to

doubt that California giraffes existed somewhere in the neighborhood of

the "tall trees."

I was anxious to get a chance of exposing to Adams his weak point, and

of showing him the absurdity of telling such ridiculous stories. A fit

occasion soon presented itself. One day, while engaged in my office at

the Museum, a man with marked Teutonic features and accent approached

the door and asked if I would like to buy a pair of living golden

pigeons.

"Yes," I replied, "I would like a _flock_ of 'golden pigeons,' if I

could buy them for their weight in _silver_; for there are no '_golden_'

pigeons in existence, unless they are made from the pure metal."

"You shall see some golden pigeons alive," he replied, at the same time

entering my office and closing the door after him. He then removed the

lid from a small basket which he carried in his hand, and sure enough

there were snugly ensconced a pair of beautiful living ruff-necked

pigeons, as yellow as saffron and as bright as a double eagle fresh from

the mint.

I confess I was somewhat staggered at this sight, and quickly asked the

man where those birds came from.

A dull, lazy smile crawled over the sober face of my German visitor, as

he replied in a slow, guttural tone of voice:

"What you think yourself?"

Catching his meaning, I quickly answered:

"I think it is a humbug?"

"Of course, I know you will say so; because you 'forstha' such things

better as any man living, so I shall not try to humbug you. I have color

them myself."

On further inquiry, I learned that this German was a chemist, and that

he possessed the art of coloring birds any hue desired, and yet retain a

natural gloss on the feathers, which gave every shade the appearance of

reality.

"I can paint a green pigeon or a blue pigeon, a gray pigeon or a black

pigeon, a brown pigeon or a pigeon half blue and half green," said the

German; "and if you prefer it, I can paint them pink or purple, or give

you a little of each color, and make you a rainbow pigeon."

The "rainbow pigeon" did not strike me as particularly desirable; but,

thinking here was a good chance to catch "Grizzly Adams," I bought the

pair of golden pigeons for ten dollars, and sent them up to the "Happy

Family," marked "Golden Pigeons from California." Mr. Taylor the great

pacificator, who has charge of the Happy Family, soon came down in a

state of perspiration.

"Really, Mr. Barnum," said he, "I could not think of putting those

elegant golden pigeons into the Happy Family--they are too valuable a

bird--they might get injured--they are by far the most beautiful pigeons

I ever saw; and as they are so rare, I would not jeopardize their lives

for anything."

"Well," I replied, "you may put them in a separate cage, properly

labeled."

Monsieur Guillaudeu, the naturalist and taxidermist of the Museum, has

been attached to that establishment since the year it was founded, 1810.

He is a Frenchman, and has read everything upon Natural History that was

ever published in his own or in the English language. He is now

seventy-five years old, but is lively as a cricket, and takes as much

interest in Natural History as he ever did. When he saw the "golden

pigeons from California," he was considerably astonished! He examined

them with great delight for half an hour, expatiating upon their

beautiful color, and the near resemblance which every feature bore to

the American ruff-neck pigeon. He soon came to my office and said:

"Mr. B., these golden pigeons are superb, but they cannot be from

California. Audubon mentions no such bird in his work upon American

Ornithology."

I told him he had better take Audubon home with him that night, and

perhaps by studying him attentively he would see occasion to change his

mind.

The next day, the old naturalist called at my office and remarked:

"Mr. B., those pigeons are a more rare bird than you imagine. They are

not mentioned by Linnaeus, Cuvier, Goldsmith, or any other writer on

Natural History, so far as I have been able to discover. I expect they

must have come from some unexplored portion of Australia."

"Never mind," I replied, "we may get more light on the subject, perhaps,

before long. We will continue to label them 'California Pigeons' until

we can fix their nativity elsewhere."

The next, morning, "Old Grizzly Adams," whose exhibition of bears was

then open in Fourteenth street, happened to be passing through the

Museum, when his eyes fell on the "Golden California Pigeons." He looked

a moment and doubtless admired. He soon after came to my office.

"Mr. B," said he, "you must let me have those California pigeons."

"I can't spare them," I replied.

"But you _must_ spare them. All the birds and animals from California

ought to be together. You own half of my California menagerie, and you

must lend me those pigeons."

"Mr. Adams, they are too rare and valuable a bird to be hawked about in

that manner; besides, I expect they will attract considerable attention

here."

"Oh, don't be a fool," replied Adams. "Rare bird, indeed! Why, they are

just as common in California as any other pigeon! I could have brought a

hundred of them from San Francisco, if I had thought of it."

"But why did you not think of it?" I asked, with a suppressed smile.

"Because they are _so common_ there," said Adams. "I did not think they

would be any curiosity here. I have eaten them in pigeon-pies hundreds

of times, and shot them by the thousand!"

I was ready to burst with laughter to see how readily Adams swallowed

the bait, but maintaining the most rigid gravity, I replied:

"Oh well, Mr. Adams, if they are really so common in California, you had

probably better take them, and you may write over and have half a dozen

pairs sent to me for the Museum."

"All right," said Adams; "I will send over to a friend in San Francisco,

and you shall have them here in a couple of months."

I told Adams that, for certain reasons, I would prefer to change the

label so as to have it read: "Golden Pigeons from Australia."

"Well, call them what you like," replied Adams; "I suppose they are

probably about as plenty in Australia as they are in California."

I fancied I could discover a sly smile lurking in the eye of the old

bear-hunter as he made this reply.

The pigeons were labeled as I suggested, and this is how it happened

that the Bridgeport non-believing lady, mentioned in the next chapter,

was so much attracted as to solicit some of their eggs in order to

perpetuate the species in old Connecticut.

Six or eight weeks after this incident, I was in the California

Menagerie, and noticed that the "Golden Pigeons" had assumed a

frightfully mottled appearance. Their feathers had grown out, and they

were half white. Adams had been so busy with his bears that he had not

noticed the change. I called him up to the pigeon cage, and remarked:

"Mr. Adams, I fear you will lose your Golden Pigeons; they must be very

sick; I observe they are turning quite pale!"

Adams looked at them a moment with astonishment; then turning to me, and

seeing that I could not suppress a smile, he indignantly exclaimed:

"Blast the Golden Pigeons! You had better take them back to the Museum.

You can't humbug me with your painted pigeons!"

This was too much, and "I laughed till I cried" to witness the mixed

look of astonishment and vexation which marked the "grizzly" features of

old Adams.

"These Golden Pigeons," I remarked, "are very common in California, I

think I heard you say? When do you expect my half-dozen pairs will

arrive?"

"You go to thunder, you old humbug!" replied Adams, as he marched off

indignantly, and soon disappeared behind the cages of his grizzly

bears.

From that time, Adams seemed to be more careful about telling his large

stories. Perhaps he was not cured altogether of his habit, but he took

particular pains when making marvelous statements to have them of such a

nature that they could not be disproved so easily as was that regarding

the "Golden California Pigeons."

CHAPTER VI.

THE WHALE, THE ANGEL FISH, AND THE GOLDEN PIGEON.

If the fact could be definitely determined, I think it would be

discovered that in this "wide awake" country there are more persons

humbugged by believing too little than too much. Many persons have such

a horror of being taken in, or such an elevated opinion of their own

acuteness, that they believe everything to be a sham, and in this way

are continually humbugging themselves.

Several years since, I purchased a living white whale, captured near

Labrador, and succeeded in placing it, "in good condition," in a large

tank, fifty feet long, and supplied with salt water, in the basement of

the American Museum. I was obliged to light the basement with gas, and

that frightened the sea-monster to such an extent that he kept at the

bottom of the tank, except when he was compelled to stick his nose above

the surface in order to breathe or "blow," and then down he would go

again as quick as possible. Visitors would sometimes stand for half an

hour, watching in vain to get a look at the whale; for, although he

could remain under water only about two minutes at a time, he would

happen to appear in some unlooked for quarter of the huge tank, and

before they could all get a chance to see him, he would be out of sight

again. Some impatient and incredulous persons after waiting ten minutes,

which seemed to them an hour, would sometimes exclaim:

"Oh, humbug! I don't believe there is a whale here at all!"

This incredulity often put me out of patience, and I would say:

"Ladies and gentlemen, there is a living whale in the tank. He is

frightened by the gaslight and by visitors; but he is obliged to come to

the surface every two minutes, and if you will watch sharply, you will

see him. I am sorry we can't make him dance a hornpipe and do all sorts

of wonderful things at the word of command; but if you will exercise

your patience a few minutes longer, I assure you the whale will be seen

at considerably less trouble than it would be to go to Labrador

expressly for that purpose."

This would usually put my patrons in good humor; but I was myself often

vexed at the persistent stubbornness of the whale in not calmly floating

on the surface for the gratification of my visitors.

One day, a sharp Yankee lady and her daughter, from Connecticut, called

at the Museum. I knew them well; and in answer to their inquiry for the

locality of the whale, I directed them to the basement. Half an hour

afterward, they called at my office, and the acute mother, in a

half-confidential, serio-comic whisper, said:

"Mr. B., it's astonishing to what a number of purposes the ingenuity of

us Yankees has applied india-rubber."

I asked her meaning, and was soon informed that she was perfectly

convinced that it was an india-rubber whale, worked by steam and

machinery, by means of which he was made to rise to the surface at short

intervals, and puff with the regularity of a pair of bellows. From her

earnest, confident manner, I saw it would be useless to attempt to

disabuse her mind on the subject. I therefore very candidly acknowledged

that she was quite too sharp for me, and I must plead guilty to the

imposition; but I begged her not to expose me, for I assured her that

she was the only person who had discovered the trick.

It was worth more than a dollar to see with what a smile of satisfaction

she received the assurance that nobody else was as shrewd as herself;

and the patronizing manner in which she bade me be perfectly tranquil,

for the secret should be considered by her as "strictly confidential,"

was decidedly rich. She evidently received double her money's worth in

the happy reflection that she could not be humbugged, and that I was

terribly humiliated in being detected through her marvelous powers of

discrimination! I occasionally meet the good lady, and always try to

look a little sheepish, but she invariably assures me that she has never

divulged my secret and never will!

On another occasion, a lady equally shrewd, who lives neighbor to me in

Connecticut, after regarding for a few minutes the "Golden Angel Fish"

swimming in one of the Aquaria, abruptly addressed me with:

"You can't humbug me, Mr. Barnum; that fish is painted!"

"Nonsense!" said I, with a laugh; "the thing is impossible!"

"I don't care, I know it is painted; it is as plain as can be."

"But, my dear Mrs. H., paint would not adhere to a fish while in the

water; and if it would, it would kill him. Besides," I added, with an

extra serious air, "we never allow humbugging here!"

"Oh, here is just the place to look for such things," she replied with a

smile; "and I must say I more than half believe that Angel Fish is

painted."

She was finally nearly convinced of her error, and left. In the

afternoon of the same day, I met her in Old Adams' California Menagerie.

She knew that I was part-proprietor of that establishment, and seeing me

in conversation with "Grizzly Adams," she came up to me in some haste,

and with her eyes glistening with excitement, she said:

"O, Mr. B., I never saw anything so beautiful as those elegant 'Golden

Pigeons' from Australia. I want you to secure some of their eggs for me,

and let my pigeons hatch them at home. I should prize them beyond all

measure."

"Oh, you don't want 'Golden Australian Pigeons,'" I replied; "they are

painted."

"No, they are not painted," said she, with a laugh, "but I half think

the Angel Fish is."

I could not control myself at the curious coincidence, and I roared with

laughter while I replied:

"Now, Mrs. H., I never let a good joke be spoiled, even if it serves to

expose my own secrets. I assure you, upon honor, that the Golden

Australian Pigeons, as they are labeled, are really painted; and that in

their natural state they are nothing more nor less than the common

ruff-necked white American pigeons!"

And it was a fact. How they happened to be exhibited under that

auriferous disguise was owing to an amusing circumstance, explained in

another chapter.

Suffice it at present to say, that Mrs. H. to this day "blushes to her

eyebrows" whenever an allusion is made to "Angel Fish" or "Golden

Pigeons."

CHAPTER VII.

PEASE'S HOARHOUND CANDY.--THE DORR REBELLION.--THE PHILADELPHIA

ALDERMEN.

In the year 1842, a new style of advertising appeared in the newspapers

and in handbills which arrested public attention at once on account of

its novelty. The thing advertised was an article called "Pease's

Hoarhound Candy;" a very good specific for coughs and colds. It was put

up in twenty-five cent packages, and was eventually sold wholesale and

retail in enormous quantities. Mr. Pease's system of advertising was

one which, I believe, originated with him in this country, although

many have practiced it since, but of course, with less success--for

imitations seldom succeed. Mr. Pease's plan was to seize upon the most

prominent topic of interest and general conversation, and discourse

eloquently upon that topic in fifty to a hundred lines of a

newspaper-column, then glide off gradually into a panegyric of "Pease's

Hoarhound Candy." The consequence was, every reader was misled by the

caption and commencement of his article, and thousands of persons had

"Pease's Hoarhound Candy" in their mouths long before they had seen it!

In fact, it was next to impossible to take up a newspaper and attempt to

read the legitimate news of the day without stumbling upon a package of

"Pease's Hoarhound Candy." The reader would often feel vexed to find

that, after reading a quarter of a column of interesting news upon the

subject uppermost in his mind, he was trapped into the perusal of one of

Pease's hoarhound candy advertisements. Although inclined sometimes to

throw down the newspaper in disgust, he would generally laugh at the

talent displayed by Mr. Pease in thus captivating and capturing the

reader. The result of all this would generally be, a trial of the candy

on the first premonitory symptoms of a cough or influenza. The degree to

which this system of advertising has since been carried has rendered it

a bore and a nuisance. The usual result of almost any great and original

achievement is, the production of a shoal of brainless imitators, who

are "neither useful nor ornamental."

In the same year that Pease's hoarhound candy appeared upon the

commercial and newspaper horizon, the "Governor Dorr Rebellion" occurred

in Rhode Island. As many will remember, this rebellion caused a great

excitement throughout the country. Citizens of Rhode Island took up arms

against each other, and it was feared by some that a bloody civil war

would ensue.

At about this time a municipal election was to come off in the city of

Philadelphia. The two political parties were pretty equally divided

there, and there were some special causes why this was regarded as an

unusually important election. Its near approach caused more excitement

in the "Quaker City" than had been witnessed there since the preceding

Presidential election. The party-leaders began to lay their plans early,

and the wire-pullers on both sides were unusually busy in their

vocation. At the head of the rabble upon which one of the parties

depended for many votes, was a drunken and profane fellow, whom we will

call Tom Simmons. Tom was great at electioneering and stump-spouting in

bar-rooms and rum-caucuses, and his party always looked to him, at each

election, to stir up the subterraneans "with a long pole"--and a

whiskey-jug at the end of it.

The exciting election which was now to come off for Mayor and Aldermen

of the good city of Brotherly Love soon brought several of the "ring" to

Tom.

"Now, Tom," said the head wire-puller, "this is going to be a close

election, and we want you to spare neither talent nor liquor in arousing

up and bringing to the polls every voter within your influence."

"Well, Squire," replied Tom carelessly, "I've concluded I won't bother

myself with this 'lection--it don't pay!"

"Don't pay!" exclaimed the frightened politician. "Why, Tom, are you not

a true friend to your party? Haven't you always been on hand at the

primary meetings, knocked down interlopers, and squelched every man who

talked about conscience, or who refused to support regular nominations,

and vote the entire clean ticket straight through? And as for 'pay,'

haven't you always been supplied with money enough to treat all doubtful

voters, and in fact to float them up to the polls in an ocean of

whiskey? I confess Tom, I am almost petrified with astonishment at

witnessing your present indifference to the alarming crisis in which our

country and our party are involved, and which nothing on earth can

avert, except our success at the coming election."

"Oh, tell that to the marines," said Tom. "We never yet had an election

that there wasn't a 'crisis,' and yet, whichever party gained, we

somehow managed to live through it, crisis or no crisis. In fact, my

curiosity has got a little excited, and I would like to see this

'crisis' that is such a bugaboo at every election; so trot out your

crisis--let us see how it looks. Besides, talking of pay, I acknowledge

the whiskey, and that is all. While I and my companions lifted you and

your companions into fat offices that enabled you to roll in your

carriages, and live on the fat of the land, we got nothing--or, at

least, next to nothing--all we got was--well--we got drunk! Now, Squire,

I will go for the other party this 'lection if you don't give me an

office."

"Give you an office!" exclaimed the "Squire," raising his hands and

rolling his eyes in utter amazement; "why, Tom, what office do you

want?"

"I want to be Alderman!" replied Tom, "and I can control votes enough to

turn the 'lection either way; and if our party don't gratefully remember

my past services and give me my reward, t'other party will be glad to

run me on their ticket, and over I go."

The gentleman of the "ring" saw by Tom's firmness and clenched teeth

that he was immovable; that his principles, like those of too many

others, consisted of "loaves and fishes;" they therefore consented to

put Tom's name on the municipal ticket; and the worst part of the story

is, he was elected.

In a very short time, Tom was duly installed into the Aldermanic chair,

and, opening his office on a prominent corner, he was soon doing a

thriving business. He was generally occupied throughout the day in

sitting as a judge in cases of book debt and promissory notes which were

brought before him, for various small sums ranging from two to five,

six, eight, and ten dollars. He would frequently dispose of thirty or

forty of these cases in a day, and as imprisonment for debt was

permitted at that time, the poor defendants would "shin" around and make

any sacrifice almost, rather than go to jail. The enormous "costs" went

into the capacious pocket of the Alderman; and this dignitary, as a

natural sequence, "waxed fat" and saucy, exemplifying the truth of the

adage "Put a beggar on horseback," etc.

As the Alderman grew rich, he became overbearing, headstrong, and

dictatorial. He began to fancy that he monopolized the concentrated

wisdom of his party, and that his word should be law. Not a party-caucus

or a political meeting could be held without witnessing the vulgar and

profane harangues of the self-conceited Alderman, Tom Simmons. As he was

one of the "ring," his fingers were in all the "pickings and stealings;"

he kept his family-coach, and in his general swagger exhibited all the

peculiarities of "high life below stairs."

But after Tom had disgraced his office for two years, a State election

took place and the other party were successful. Among the first laws

which they passed after the convening of the Legislature, was one

declaring that from that date imprisonment for debt should not be

permitted in the State of Pennsylvania for any sum less than ten

dollars.

This enactment, of course, knocked away the chief prop which sustained

the Alderman, and when the news of its passage reached Philadelphia, Tom

was the most indignant man that had been seen there for some years.

Standing in front of his office the next morning, surrounded by several

of his political chums, Tom exclaimed:

"Do you see what them infernal tories have done down there at

Harrisburg? They have been and passed an outrageous, oppressive,

barbarous, and unconstitutional law! A pretty idea, indeed, if a man

can't put a debtor in jail for a less sum than ten dollars! How am I

going to support my family, I should like to know, if this law is

allowed to stand? I tell you, gentlemen, this law is unconstitutional,

and you will see blood running in our streets, if them tory scoundrels

try to carry it out!"

His friends laughed, for they saw that Tom was reasoning from his pocket

instead of his head; and, as he almost foamed at the mouth in his

impotent wrath they could not suppress a smile.

"Oh, you may laugh, gentlemen--you may laugh; but you will see it. Our

party will never disgrace itself a permitting the tories to rob them of

their rights by passing unconstitutional laws; and I say, the sooner we

come to blood, the better!"

At this moment, a gentleman stepped up, and addressing the Alderman,

said:

"Alderman, I want to bring a case of book debt before you this morning."

"How much is your claim?" asked Tom.

"Four dollars," replied the rumseller--for such he proved to be--and his

debt was for drinks chalked up against one of his "customers."

"You can't have your four dollars, Sir," replied the excited Alderman.

"You are robbed of your four dollars, Sir. Them legislative tories at

Harrisburg, Sir, have cheated you out of your four dollars, Sir. I

undertake to say, Sir, that fifty thousand honest men in Philadelphia

have been robbed of their four dollars by these bloody tories and their

cursed unconstitutional law! Ah, gentlemen, you will see blood running

in our streets before you are a month older. (A laugh.) Oh, you may

laugh; but you will see it--see if you don't!"

A newsboy was just passing by.

"Here, boy, give me the Morning Ledger," said the Alderman, at the same

time taking the paper and handing the boy a penny. "Let us see what them

blasted cowboys are doing down at Harrisburg now. Ah!--what is this?"

(Reading:) "'Blood, blood, blood!' Aha! laugh, will you, gentlemen? Here

it is." Reads:

"'Blood, blood, blood! The Dorrites have got possession of

Providence. The military are called out. Father is arrayed against

father, and son against son. Blood is already running in our

streets.'

"Now laugh, will you, gentlemen? Blood is running in the streets of

Providence; blood will be running in the streets of Philadelphia before

you are a fortnight older! The tories of Providence and the tories of

Harrisburg must answer for this blood, for they and their

unconstitutional proceedings are the cause of its flowing! Let us see

the rest of this tragic scene." Reads:

"'Is there any remedy for this dreadful state of things?'"

ALDERMAN.--"Of course not, except to hang every rascal of them for

trampling on our g-l-orious Constitution." Reads:

"'Is there any remedy for this dreadful state of things? Yes, there

is.'"

ALDERMAN.--"Oh, there is, is there? What is it? Let me see." Reads:

"'Buy two packages of Pease's hoarhound candy.'"

"Blast the infernal Ledger!" exclaimed the now doubly incensed and

indignant Alderman, throwing the paper upon the pavement with the most

ineffable disgust, amid the shouts and hurrahs of a score of men who by

this time had gathered around the excited Alderman Tom Simmons.

As I before remarked, the "candy" was a very good article for the

purposes for which it was made; and as Pease was an indefatigable man,

as well as a good advertiser, he soon acquired a fortune. Mr. Pease,

Junior, is now living in affluence in Brooklyn, and is bringing up a

"happy family" to enjoy the fruits of his industry, probity, good

habits, and genius.

The "humbug" in this transaction, of course consisted solely in the

manner of advertising. There was no humbug or deception about the

article manufactured.

CHAPTER VIII.

BRANDRETH'S PILLS.--MAGNIFICENT ADVERTISING.--POWER OF IMAGINATION.

In the year 1834, Dr. Benjamin Brandreth commenced advertising in the

city of New York, "Brandreth's Pills specially recommended to purify the

blood." His office consisted of a room about ten feet square, located in

what was then known as the Sun building, an edifice ten by forty feet,

situated at the corner of Spruce and Nassau streets, where the Tribune

is now published. His "factory" was at his residence in Hudson street.

He put up a large gilt sign over the Sun office, five or six feet wide

by the length of the building, which attracted much attention, as at

that time it was probably the largest sign in New York. Dr. Brandreth

had great faith in his pills, and I believe not without reason; for

multitudes of persons soon became convinced of the truth of his

assertions, that "all diseases arise from impurity or imperfect

circulation of the blood, and by purgation with Brandreth's Pills all

disease may be cured."

But great and reasonable as might have been the faith of Dr. Brandreth

in the efficacy of his pills, his faith in the potency of advertising

them was equally strong. Hence he commenced advertising largely in the

Sun newspaper--paying at least $5,000 to that paper alone, for his

first year's advertisements. That may not seem a large sum in these

days, when parties have been known to pay more than five thousand

dollar for a single day's advertising in the leading journals; but, at

the time Brandreth started, his was considered the most liberal

newspaper-advertising of the day.

Advertising is to a genuine article what manure is to land,--it largely

increases the product. Thousands of persons may be reading your

advertisement while you are eating, or sleeping, or attending to your

business; hence public attention is attracted, new customers come to

you, and, if you render them a satisfactory equivalent for their money,

they continue to patronize you and recommend you to their friends.

At the commencement of his career, Dr. Brandreth was indebted to Mr.

Moses Y. Beach, proprietor of the New York Sun, for encouragement and

means of advertising. But this very advertising soon caused his receipts

to be enormous. Although the pills were but twenty-five cents per box,

they were soon sold to such a great extent, that tons of huge cases

filled with the "purely vegetable pill" were sent from the new and

extensive manufactory every week. As his business increased, so in the

same ratio did he extend his advertising. The doctor engaged at one time

a literary gentleman to attend, under the supervision of himself, solely

to the advertising department. Column upon column of advertisements

appeared in the newspapers, in the shape of learned and scientific

pathological dissertations, the very reading of which would tempt a poor

mortal to rush for a box of Brandreth's Pills; so evident was it

(according to the advertisement) that nobody ever had or ever would have

"pure blood," until from one to a dozen boxes of the pills had been

taken as "purifiers." The ingenuity displayed in concocting these

advertisements was superb, and was probably hardly equaled by that

required to concoct the pills.

No pain, ache, twinge, or other sensation, good, bad, or indifferent,

ever experienced by a member of the human family, but was a most

irrefragable evidence of the impurity of the blood; and it would have

been blasphemy to have denied the "self-evident" theory, that "all

diseases arise from impurity or imperfect circulation of the blood, and

that by purgation with Brandreth's Pills all disease may be cured."

The doctor claims that his grandfather first manufactured the pills in

1751. I suppose this may be true; at all events, no _living_ man will be

apt to testify to the contrary. Here is an extract from one of Dr.

Brandreth's early advertisements, which will give an idea of his style:

"'What has been longest known has been most considered, and what

has been most considered is best understood.

"'The life of the flesh is in the blood.'--Lev. xxii, 2.

"Bleeding reduces the vital powers; Brandreth's Pills increase

them. So in sickness never be bled, especially in Dizziness and

Apoplexy, but always use Brandreth's Pills.

"The laws of life are written upon the face of Nature. The Tempest,

Whirlwind, and Thunder-storm bring health from the Solitudes of

God. The Tides are the daily agitators and purifiers of the Mighty

World of Waters.

"What these Providential means are as purifiers of the Atmosphere

or Air, Brandreth's Pills are to man."

This splendid system of advertising, and the almost reckless outlay

which was required to keep it up, challenged the admiration of the

business community. In the course of a few years, his office was

enlarged; and still being too small, he took the store 241 Broadway, and

also opened a branch at 187 Hudson street. The doctor continued to let

his advertising keep pace with his patronage; and he was finally, in the

year 1836, compelled to remove his manufactory to Sing Sing, where such

perfectly incredible quantities of Brandreth's Pills have been

manufactured and sold that it would hardly be safe to give the

statistics. Suffice it to say, that the only "humbug" which I suspect in

connection with the pills was, the very harmless and unobjectionable yet

novel method of advertising them; and as the doctor amassed a great

fortune by their manufacture, this very fact is _prima facie_ evidence

that the pill was a valuable purgative.

A funny incident occurred to me in connection with this great pill. In

the year 1836, while I was travelling through the States of Alabama,

Mississippi, and Louisiana, I became convinced by reading Doctor

Brandreth's advertisements that I needed his pills. Indeed, I there read

the proof that every symptom that I experienced, either in imagination

or in reality, rendered their extensive consumption absolutely necessary

to preserve my life. I purchased a box of Brandreth's Pills in Columbus,

Miss. The effect was miraculous! Of course, it was just what the

advertisement told me it would be. In Tuscaloosa, Alabama, I purchased

half a dozen boxes. They were all used up before my perambulating show

reached Vicksburg, Miss., and I was a confirmed disciple of the blood

theory. There I laid in a dozen boxes. In Natchez, I made a similar

purchase. In New Orleans, where I remained several months, I was a

profitable customer, and had become thoroughly convinced that the only

real "greenhorns" in the world were those who preferred meat or bread to

Brandreth's Pills. I took them morning, noon, and night. In fact, the

advertisements announced that one could not take too many; for if one

box was sufficient to purify the blood, eleven extra boxes would have no

injurious effect.

I arrived in New York in June 1838, and by that time I had become such a

firm believer in the efficacy of Brandreth's Pills, that I hardly

stopped long enough to speak with my family, before I hastened to the

"principal office" of Doctor Brandreth to congratulate him on being the

greatest public benefactor of the age.

I found the doctor "at home," and introduced myself without ceremony. I

told him my experiences. He was delighted. I next heartily indorsed

every word stated in his advertisements. He was not surprised, for he

knew the effects of his pills were such as I described. Still he was

elated in having another witness whose extensive experiments with his

pills were so eminently satisfactory. The doctor and myself were both

happy--he in being able to do so much good to mankind; I in being the

recipient of such untold benefits through his valuable discovery.

At last, the doctor chanced to say that he wondered how I happened to

get his pills in Natchez, "for," said he, "I have no agent there as

yet."

"Oh!" I replied, "I always bought my pills at the drug stores."

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed the doctor, "then they are were all

counterfeits! vile impositions! poisonous compounds! I never sell a pill

to a druggist--I never permit an apothecary to handle one of my pills.

But they counterfeit them by the bushel; the unprincipled, heartless,

murderous impostors!"

I need not say I was surprised. Was it possible, then, that my

imagination had done all this business, and that I had been cured by

poisons which I supposed were Brandreth's Pill? I confess I laughed

heartily; and told the doctor that, after all, it seemed the

counterfeits were as good as the real pills, provided the patient had

sufficient faith.

The doctor was puzzled as well as vexed, but an idea struck him that

soon enabled him to recover his usual equanimity.

"I'll tell you what it is," said he, "those Southern druggists have

undoubtedly obtained the pills from me under false pretences. They have

pretended to be planters, and have purchased pills from me in large

quantities for use on the plantations, and then they have retailed the

pills from their drug-shops."

I laughed at this shrewd suggestion, and remarked: "This may be so, but

I guess my imagination did the business!"

The doctor was uneasy, but he asked me as a favor to bring him one of

the empty pill boxes which I had brought from the South. The next day, I

complied with his request, and I will do the doctor justice to say that,

on comparison, it proved as he had suspected; the pills were genuine,

and although he had advertised that no druggist should sell them, they

were so popular that druggists found it necessary to get them "by hook

or by crook;" and the consequence was, I had the pleasure of a glorious

laugh, and Doctor Brandreth experienced "a great scare."

The doctor "made his pile" long ago, although he still devotes his

personal attention to the "entirely vegetable and innocent pills, whose

life-giving power no pen can describe."

In 1849, the doctor was elected President of the Village of Sing Sing,

N. Y. (where he still resides,) and was re-elected to the same office

for seven consecutive years. In the same year, he was elected to the New

York State Senate, and in 1859 was again elected.

Dr. Brandreth is a liberal man and a pleasant, entertaining, and

edifying companion. He deserves all the success he has ever received.

"Long may he wave!"

II. THE SPIRITUALISTS.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS, THEIR RISE AND PROGRESS.--SPIRITUAL

ROPE-TYING.--MUSIC PLAYING.--CABINET SECRETS.--"THEY CHOOSE DARKNESS

RATHER THAN LIGHT," ETC.--THE SPIRITUAL HAND.--HOW THE THING IS

DONE.--DR. W. F. VAN VLECK.

The Davenport Brothers are natives of Buffalo, N. Y., and in that city

commenced their career as "mediums" about twelve years ago. They were

then mere lads. For some time, their operations were confined to their

own place, where, having obtained considerable notoriety through the

press, they were visited by people from all parts of the country. But,

in 1855, they were induced by John F. Coles, a very worthy spiritualist

of New York City, to visit that metropolis, and there exhibit their

powers. Under the management of Mr. Coles, they held "circles" afternoon

and evening, for several days, in a small hall at 195 Bowery. The

audience were seated next the walls, the principal space being required

for the use of "the spirits." The "manifestations" mostly consisted in

the thrumming and seemingly rapid movement about the hall of several

stringed instruments, the room having been made entirely dark, while the

boys were supposed or asserted to be quietly seated at the table in the

centre. Two guitars, with sometimes a banjo, were the instruments used,

and the noise made by "the spirits" was about equal to the united

honking of a large flock of wild geese. The manifestations were stunning

as well as astonishing; for not only was the sense of hearing smitten by

the dreadful sounds, but, sometimes, a member of the circle would get a

"striking demonstration" over his head!

At the request of the "controlling spirit," made through a horn, the

hall was lighted at intervals during the entertainment, at which times

the mediums could be seen seated at the table, looking very innocent and

demure, as if they had never once thought of deceiving anybody. On one

of these occasions, however, a policeman suddenly lighted the hall by

means of a dark lantern, without having been specially called upon to do

so; and the boys were clearly seen with instruments in their hands. They

dropped them as soon as they could, and resumed their seats at the

table. Satisfied that the thing was a humbug, the audience left in

disgust; and the policeman was about to march the boys to the

station-house on the charge of swindling, when he was prevailed upon to

remain and farther test the matter. Left alone with them, and the three

seated together at the table on which the instruments had been placed,

he laid, at their request, a hand on each medium's head; they then

clasped both his arms with their hands. While they remained thus

situated (as he supposed,) the room being dark, one of the instruments,

with an infernal twanging of its strings, rose from the table and hit

the policeman several times on the head; then a strange voice through

the trumpet advised him not to interfere with the work of the spirits by

persecuting the mediums! Considerably astonished, if not positively

scared, he took his hat and left, fully persuaded that there was

"something in it!"

The boys produced the manifestations by grasping the neck of the

instrument, swinging it around, and thrusting it into different parts of

the open space of the room, at the same time vibrating the strings with

the fore-finger. The faster the finger passed over the strings, the more

rapidly the instrument seemed to move. Two hands could thus use as many

instruments.

When sitting with a person at the table, as they did with the policeman,

one hand could be taken off the investigator's arm without his knowing

it, by gently increasing, at the same time, the pressure of the other

hand. It was an easy matter then to raise and thrum the instrument or

talk through the horn.

About a dozen gentlemen--several of whom were members of the press--had

a private seance with the boys one afternoon, on which occasion "the

spirits" ventured upon an extra "manifestation." All took seats at one

side of a long, high table--the position of the mediums being midway of

the row. This time, a little, dim, ghostly gaslight was allowed in the

room. What seemed to be a hand soon appeared, partly above the edge of

the vacant side of the table, and opposite the "mediums." One excited

spiritualist present said he could see the finger-nails.

John F. Coles--who had for several days, suspected the innocence of the

boys--sprang from his seat, turned up the gaslight, and pounced on the

elder boy, who was found to have a nicely stuffed glove drawn partly on

to the toe of his boot. That, then, was the spirit-hand! The nails that

the imaginative spiritualist thought he saw were not on the fingers. The

boy alleged that the spirits made him attempt the deception.

The father of these boys, who had accompanied them to New York, took

them home immediately after that exposure. In Buffalo, they continued to

hold "circles," hoping to retrieve their lost reputation as good

mediums--by being, not more honest, but more cautious. To prevent any

one getting hold of them while operating, they hit upon the plan of

passing a rope through a button-hole of each gentleman's coat, the ends

to be held by a trusty person--assigning, as a reason for that

arrangement, that it would then be known no one in the circle could

assist in producing the manifestations. The plan did not always work

well, however; for a skeptic would sometimes cut the rope, and then

pounce upon "the spirit"--that is, if he didn't happen to miss that

individual, on account of the darkness and while trying to avoid a

collision with the instruments.

To secure greater immunity from detection, and to enable them to exhibit

in large halls which could not easily be darkened, the boys finally

fixed upon a "cabinet" as the best thing in which to work. They had,

some time before, made the "rope-test" a feature of their exhibitions;

and in their cabinet-show they depended for success in deceiving

entirely upon the presumption of the audience that their hands were so

secured with ropes as to prevent their playing upon the musical

instruments, or doing whatever else the spirits were assumed to do.

Their cabinet is about six feet high, six feet long, and two and a half

feet deep, the front consisting of three doors, opening outward. In each

end is a seat, with holes through which the ropes can be passed in

securing the mediums. In the upper part of the middle door is a

lozenge-shaped aperture, curtained on the inside with black muslin or

oilcloth. The bolts are on the inside of the doors.

The mediums are generally first tied by a committee of two gentlemen

appointed from the audience. The doors of the cabinet are then closed,

those at the ends first, and then the middle one, the bolt of which is

reached by the manager through the aperture.

By the time the end doors are closed and bolted, the Davenports, in many

instances, have succeeded in loosening the knots next their wrists, and

in slipping their hands out, the latter being then exhibited at the

aperture. Lest the hands should be recognized as belonging to the

mediums, they are kept in a constant shaking motion while in view; and

to make the hands look large or small, they spread or press together the

fingers. With that peculiar rapid motion imparted to them, four hands in

the aperture will appear to be half-a-dozen. A lady's flesh colored kid

glove, nicely stuffed with cotton, is sometimes exhibited as a female

hand--a critical observation of it never being allowed. It does not

take the medium long to draw the knots close to their wrists again. They

are then ready to be inspected by the Committee, who report them tied as

they were left. Supposing them to have been securely bound all the

while, those who witness the show are very naturally astonished.

Sometimes, after being tied by a committee, the mediums cannot readily

extricate their hands and get them back as they were; in which case they

release themselves entirely from the ropes before the doors are again

opened, concluding to wait till after "the spirits" have bound them,

before showing hands or making music.

It is a common thing for these impostors to give the rope between their

hands a twist while those limbs are being bound; and that movement, if

dexterously made, while the attention of the committee-men is

momentarily diverted, is not likely to be detected. Reversing that

movement will let the hand out.

The great point with the Davenports in tying themselves is, to have a

knot next their wrists that looks solid, "fair and square," at the same

time that they can slip it and get their hands out in a moment. There

are several ways of forming such a knot, one of which I will attempt to

describe. In the middle of a rope a square knot is tied, loosely at

first, so that the ends of the rope can be tucked through, in opposite

directions, below the knot, and the latter is then drawn tight. There

are then two loops--which should be made small--through which the hands

are to pass after the rest of the tying is done. Just sufficient slack

is left to admit of the hands passing through the loops, which, lastly,

are drawn close to the wrists, the knot coming between the latter. No

one, from the appearance of such a knot, would suspect it could be

slipped. The mediums thus tied can, immediately after the committee have

inspected the knots, and closed the doors, show hands or play upon

musical instruments, and in a few seconds be, to all appearance, firmly

tied again.

If flour has been placed in their hands, it makes no difference as to

their getting those members out of or into the ropes; but, to show hands

at the aperture, or to make a noise on the musical instruments, it is

necessary that they should get the flour out of one hand into the other.

The moisture of the hand and squeezing, packs the flour into a lump,

which can be laid into the other hand and returned without losing any.

The little flour that adheres to the empty hand can be wiped off in the

pantaloons pocket. The mediums seldom if ever take flour in their hands

while they are in the bonds put upon them by the committee. The

principal part of the show is after the tying has been done in their own

way. Wm. Fay, who accompanies the Davenports, is thus fixed when the

hypothetical spirits take the coat off his back.

As I before remarked, there are several ways in which the mediums tie

themselves. They always do it, however, in such a manner that, though

the tying looks secure, they can immediately get one or both hands out.

Let committees insist upon untying the knots of the spirits, whether the

mediums are willing or not. A little critical observation will enable

them to learn the trick.

To make this subject of tying clearer, I will repeat that the Davenports

always untie themselves by using their hands; as they are able in

ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, however impossible it may seem, to

release their hands by loosening the knots next their wrists. Sometimes

they do this by twisting the rope between their wrists; sometimes it is

by keeping their muscles as tense as possible during the tying, so that

when relaxed there shall be some slack. Most "committees" know so little

about tying, that anybody, by a little pulling, slipping, and wriggling,

could slip his hands out of their knots.

A violin, bell, and tambourine, with perhaps a guitar and drum, are the

instruments used by the Davenports in the cabinet. The one who plays the

violin holds the bell in his hand with the bow. The other chap beats the

tambourine on his knee, and has a hand for something else.

The "mediums" frequently allow a person to remain with them, providing

he will let his hands be tied to their knees, the operators having

previously been tied by "the spirits." The party who ventures upon that

experiment is apt to be considerably "mussed up," as "the spirits" are

not very gentle in their manipulations.

To expose all the tricks of these impostors would require more space

than I can afford at present. They have exhibited throughout the

Northern States and the Canadas; but never succeeded very well

pecuniarily until about two years ago, when they employed an agent, who

advertised them in such a way as to attract public attention. In

September last, they went to England, where they have since created

considerable excitement.

If the hands of these boys were tied close against the side of their

cabinet, the ropes passing through holes and fastened on the outside, I

think "the spirits" would always fail to work.

Dr. W. F. Van Vleck, of Ohio, to whom I am indebted for some of the

facts contained in this chapter, can beat the Davenport brothers at

their own game. In order that he might the better learn the various

methods pursued by the professed "mediums" in deceiving the public, Dr.

Van Vleck entered into the medium-business himself, and by establishing

confidential relations with those of the profession whose acquaintance

he made, he became duly qualified to expose them.